Clarity
by If I Could I Wouldn't
Summary: 'The mirror was old, dozens of light, barely visible scratches marring the perfect surface. It was the same with every mirror I stood in front of, except it was you standing in front of it. And the person staring back was me.' *OOC/Dark*


_**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, quotes, songs or references that I may use in this writing; they all belong to the original owner. Any ideas of my own (take the plot for instance) and other characters that I have created belong to me.**_

_**I would say this is dark, has questionable material and is very non-fluff which is in what I feel most comfortable writing. Anyway, you have yourself some lovely songs below, to go along with certain moments and a fanfiction to read so…**_

_**Anyway, leave a review at the end and tell me what you think.**_

_**Songs:**_

_**Colorblind – Counting Crows**_

_**Dead Hearts – Stars**_

_**Conductor – We Were Promised Jetpacks**_

_**We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow – Soko**_

_**Youth – Daughter**_

_**Gone – Ionanna Giki**_

It started small; I would sometimes see a glimpse of you in the corner of my eye – no more than a slight flash of colour. You were always fleeting, so much so I began to think you were nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me.

That was until you stopped trying to hide, and I stopped trying to see.

…

It got worse then. You played tricks on me, and gold would haunt me at my every step. I became jumpy, eyes always searching, what people didn't know, was that I was searching for you.

You and your games however, stopped me from seeing; you left trails of dust and silver, always, always, shining. Never you though. You preferred to watch me suffer. It was in that which you found enjoyment.

And I was most happy to oblige.

…

I only noticed after the first few times I saw you, or at least, parts of you, that you had no shadow.

You would stand, back covered in darkness and remain unscathed by the sun's rays.

Even so, when I did see you your face was covered. Always covered.

So maybe you did have a shadow, maybe it was inside of you. Some things, I have learned, are internal. Sometimes the greatest beauty and hide the most terrifying of secrets.

…

Years after you appeared fully.

Or as much as I allowed myself to see.

Your grin was off, and not just because only one side of your mouth lifted. It was empty, as if something was missing. Your eyes were the same: dead. I thought nothing of it, not everyone could be alive.

There was something else as well, something I never noticed about you, not until you had to show me yourself. You reminded me of someone, the predatory stares that you would fix small, redheaded girls with, or the low timbre of your voice.

Whenever I came close, the image would escape, like water though running through my hands. Except, unlike water – where I would manage to save some – the memory of me trying would disappear too.

I was so blissfully unaware. Perhaps that was your doing. I can't tell the difference between us now.

…

The mirror was old, dozens of light, barely visible scratches marring the perfect surface. It was the same with every mirror I stood in front of, except it was you standing in front of it.

And the person staring back was me.

…

Alec and Magnus were worried, or as worried as they could be when they weren't wrapped up in themselves.

They came round, all frowns and seriousness.

Magnus had even forgone his normally flamboyant wear. It was weird seeing him without it, but the lines on his face spoke of withheld amusement.

I might have believed them, but I didn't. Not when you told me they were liars. That they were only laughing at me and my attempts to be a person.

You had always been here longer than them and I had always trusted you more than them.

I shouted and they left.

But you wanted more.

…

We stayed up through the night, making plans. Or rather, you made plans.

I stayed in the corner, listening to my own voice snarling out syllables and mashing up vowels. I was weird to think that you had my voice… or was it the other way around?

The thought slipped away as you turned to me, hair dishevelled and out of place, your dead eyes gleaming with _something. _You were speaking of revenge and of blood and of glory.

I fell at your feet, forgetting the crystallized dagger in my hand.

The first blood spilt that night was mine, and I watched as your lips were stained crimson as you feasted.

You said it was the most delicious thing you had ever tasted.

And I just wanted to make you happy.

…

They were so trusting, it was almost too easy. They didn't seem to mind that I had changed my mind, or that I kept glancing at the clock. And I had long since got used to the fact that no one else could see you or hear you.

That just made it easier, you were always watchful, pointing out their weakness', telling me when and what the strike.

When I did drag the knife over their throats it didn't seem enough, not for you, even while you wore the dark rose petal red of the deceased you still wanted something. It wasn't just about your thirst anymore, you wanted excitement. You needed a game.

…

You didn't approve of any of my friends, you told me they whispered about us, about how wrong we were and that I was sick.

And I was _so _angry; they were just like Alec and Magnus, always trying to get themselves into something that wasn't theirs to mess with.

I didn't need them anyway. I didn't need anyone.

The dagger was used against Simon and Izzy that night. Piecing their skin was all the sins they had committed against me, every line marking another reason for their betrayal.

It was art in its purest form.

Art which you were happy to indulge in. Even if you didn't really get what you wanted.

So that's what I would do for you. For helping me, for showing me an escape and exposing their lies.

I would bring the game to you, and I would let you play until you had taken the king.

…

We were out at the park, me trying to find something to occupy my thoughts while you were trying to find your next target.

It was three hours before you tugged at my arm and pointed to a small figure sitting by the pond. Their head was bent and they were drawing something intently, small, lithe fingers dancing across the page.

I wondered what those fingers would feel like dancing over my skin.

I knew why you had chosen her; she was small and a red head. They were you type. For anything really.

Many a time I had heard of what you would do to a girl like that if you could touch them.

I looked over to the coffee shop on the side of the street, then counted the change in my pocket.

Just enough.

You had just moved your knight.

…

Her name was Clarissa, but she preferred Clary. Her favourite colour was gold and she was studying Art.

I told her my name was Jonathan Christopher, but that I preferred John. My favourite colour from now was green – like her eyes, I said – and I had dropped out of Collage.

She didn't seem to mind, she was all smiles and laughter, even with the beanie she was sporting and the dozen ear piercings that dotted her fragile skin.

It didn't make her any less beautiful though. And for once, something more than your pressing expectations were at the forefront of my mind.

It was her smile.

…

I asked her out on a date on the twenty-third of March. She gave me that heart stopping smile and calmly said yes. If it wasn't for you pointing out the slight tremor of her voice, or her fingers fiddling awkwardly behind her back, I wouldn't know she was as nervous as I was.

I didn't tell you I was nervous, or that I was also fiddling with my hands when I asked her. I had a sneaking suspicion that you knew and that's why you were glaring at me the whole way through the date.

I didn't really notice though.

I was past playing your game. I guess that's why I was always a pawn to you.

I wish I could have been more, I wish I could have been the knight you deserved, and the one that I wanted to be.

I couldn't be though; I would _never _be good enough for that.

Clary seemed to think I was though and every moment after was cherished.

…

Six months later she said she loved me, the words, which I would have readily said if I had been the same heartless person I had been a year ago, wouldn't come.

You stamped your foot and hissed angrily.

But the words were stuck, and even then they were a garbled mess, tumbling over each other in a rush to see if they would ever be said.

Clary said it was fine that I couldn't say it. As if I was damaged and rejected the idea, and I was. But that wasn't your fault. It was mine.

I never did get to say the words back, not as myself.

…

Her hands were everywhere, in my hair, on my chest, my skin was alive, every nerve filled with some sort of hypersensitivity.

Her hands moved from my chest to my back, dragging me closer to her body and her lips – God, her lips – were hot and needy as they met my own.

Nothing could be enough. I couldn't get enough.

Your laugh startled me, piercing the haze I had been under. It was cruel, and when I jumped back to look at you so were your eyes. A different shade from the usual, however this time it was directed at me.

But the hungry look you were giving Clary was no different than the one that you would give other girls like her. Like they were something you could use and throw away.

It was also the look you got in your eyes when you were waiting for your arms to be coated in hot red blood.

I refused.

And something snapped.

…

It was your hair her hands were running through, your back she was exploring and your lips she was pressing against.

And you were reacting in kind, as if the motions could ever quench the aching inside of you, as if it could bring life to your eyes.

I wanted to scream, to run, to hide, but I couldn't. We were the same, but different. I was you and you were me, and I could only watch as you did what you promised you would do to every girl who stood in your path.

If you could hear my shouts, my yells, you didn't act on them. To busy acting out your vicious revenge.

And you would do it again and again.

…

The second time it happened was after Clary, or somewhere in between 'Clary' and 'Back To Clary'.

You were thirsty, after months of chasing one girl to only fill your need to be felt you didn't care for the thrill of the chase all you wanted was the quench it.

So you made me move onto Bat and Maia.

He didn't go out without a fight, and I was losing it. His hands here around my neck and the knife was on the far side of the room.

The fury in his eyes, like the bare light of the sun, was hard to look into. But you made sure I didn't have to.

The same feeling, like something was breaking inside of me. And then I was lying on the floor watching you being me overpowering him, and then beating him, punching his face over and over and over.

By the time I regained control, and by the time you were finished, he was unrecognisable.

…

It got worse, or better, depending if it was me or you talking. At one point it was like my body (or was it yours then?) was just a shared vessel, something to pass between us. We didn't dare sleep for fear of missing the vital moments of feeling.

I was more careful, since it was me who seemed to be losing control and you gaining it.

Soon I only ever got snatches of feeling, of being. In them I would run, feeling my muscles responding my calls while you stayed where you were.

Waiting. For it would always come back for you.

Your hunger died as mine grew and soon it was you wielding the knife. And you enjoyed it a Hell of a lot more than I ever did – if that was even possible.

But then you stopped, and it was me without the shadow.

…

You went back to Clary.

I followed, because she was the only thing I had loved since you came.

But you had always been there, so perhaps she was the only thing I had ever loved.

I wouldn't mind that, she was worth it.

…

I sat at the back of the car, staring out of the grubby window, spotted with grease and fingerprints. They weren't mine though, they were yours. Where my hand had been yours had replaced it. We weren't the same now, not as we had been before, we were at the opposite ends of where we had begun.

I was what sat in the corner of your eye, always, always, watching.

I knew it wouldn't affect you like it had me though. You were the one that had caused this, started it all, so why should it.

And I felt your thirst.

An aching, never ending burning, consuming me and leaving trails of fire when it was brought to the surface. I understood now.

But I would never forgive you.

But only because there was nothing to forgive, you wanted life and I gave it you. I was only doing what made you happy, and it seems that your happiness is tied to mine.

So I guess that means I'm happy being a shadow forever, and that's why I tried to hate you.

But I can't.

_I wish I could._


End file.
